Page 45 of Vow to Corrupt You (Gods of Corruption #1)

Serena

I close my eyes, trying to stay calm. Rodrigo tightens the gun’s position, coaxing my head back with it, and his threats keep ringing in my ears.

Dimitris will bring your husband soon, and when he does, you’ll see what I’m made of, wicked one.

The heavy metal door bursts open with a loud bang, but I’m scared to look. I’m afraid to see Nikos captured, led here by Dimitris. I’m only praying for a miracle, for some way out of this. And so, my prayers are answered.

“You shouldn’t have touched my wife.” The low, rough voice rumbles in my ears, and I force myself to look up.

I see him, Nikos, safe and sound. Free. Gun in his hand, eyes full of wrath and focused on Rodrigo as if he were death itself.

Castro freezes, his arrogance and confidence evaporating as he sees Nikos’s soldiers surrounding him, ready to end his life on my husband’s command.

“How is that possible? This wasn’t supposed to happen!” he shouts, his frustration boiling inside as he steps backward instinctively.

Nikos doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze never wavers, his entire body radiates lethal wrath. “You were a fool if you thought you could outsmart me. In this town, where I am the law. The fucking God.”

Rodrigo’s hand shakes in anger as he lifts his gun and presses it to my temple. My legs feel like lead, but I try not to show the fear consuming me.

“If you don’t let me go,” he snarls, looking at Nikos, “I’ll kill your fucking bitch!”

Nikos’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, his anger hardens into something even more frightening. “You’re talking about my wife, Rodrigo,” he growls. “And I don’t just protect what’s mine. I destroy anyone who dares to touch it.”

My vision blurs as the crack of the gunshot echoes through the warehouse.

Is it over?

Did Nikos shoot him?

Did Rodrigo shoot me?

Eventually, the blur recedes, and I see Castro’s body crumble to the floor.

But Nikos doesn’t stop. He fires again. And again.

The bullets tear into Rodrigo’s lifeless body as if Nikos is trying to obliterate every trace of him until the gun finally clicks empty.

I look at him, my husband. He’s breathing heavily with such fury in his eyes it could burn the entire warehouse to the ground.

Finally, he turns his head slowly and looks at me like I’m all that matters, like something in him finally breaks loose.

Then, without a word, he tosses the weapon aside and rushes toward me.

“Are you okay, baby?” His breath is ragged as his hands cup my face, trembling as though he’s afraid I might break at his touch.

“Dimitris,” I hardly manage, fearing we might still be in danger. Nikos might still be in danger. “He… he’s a part of this.”

“I know.” He nods, brushing his hand through my hair. “Are you okay? Did they…” his teeth clench, “hurt you?”

I shake my head, “No, I’m okay. Now that you’re here, I’m okay.”

The glimmer in Nikos’s gaze is something I’ve never seen before. Fear and relief. Pain and comfort. All in one, mixing in his deep, dark eyes that I want to never lose sight of again.

He kisses me gently as if I were a delicate vase, too easy to crumble apart, yet with such desperate need, as if his life depended on it. He kisses me, and it’s not just a kiss. It’s like a vow, an unbreakable, binding vow of forever. A promise that I am his, and he is mine.

“I knew you would come,” I whisper against his lips. “I just knew… I felt it in my bones.”

“Always,” he murmurs, caressing my cheek with his thumb. “I will always protect you, baby.”

I nod before stealing yet another soft kiss.

He turns to his soldiers, his expression hardening again.

“Bring me something to break these chains,” he commands, and his men follow his order without question.

“Valeria…” It suddenly hits me, and I whisper hoarsely. “She was here too. She must’ve escaped.”

Nikos nods, the pain and the wrath in his gaze taking over. “My men are already canvassing the area. We’ll find her.”

“Boss.” One of Nikos’ soldiers hands him a thick metal cutter, and my heart drops to my stomach.

“Trust me,” Nikos whispers.

“I do.” I nod and close my eyes, too scared to watch.

But I do. I trust him.

“Hold still.” His rough but soothing voice is followed by the sharp clang of metal.

The chain falls away, and my arms drop. I’m free.

The sudden feeling returning to my limbs almost makes me collapse, but Nikos catches me.

He tosses the cutter aside and pulls me into his arms. His hands run over my arms and back as if to reassure himself that I’m really here, in one piece.

“No one will ever do this to you again,” his tone darkens with conviction. “I promise.”

I bury my face against his broad frame as all the adrenaline and emotion seem to inundate me the moment the chains were broken. I sob uncontrollably as his arms close tightly around me before he scoops me up effortlessly, holding me as though I’m the most fragile thing in the world.

“Let’s get you home, baby.”

“I prefer wicked one,” I murmur against his chest, and I hear a soft chuckle.

“Let’s get you home, wicked one,” he says as if my wish is his command and with a hint of warm satisfaction.

He carries me through the warehouse, leaving the mayhem behind.

“You’re bleeding.” I realize as I notice a wound on his right arm. My heart races, breath quickens. Did Castro shoot him? Did he come here like this?

“It’s nothing,” he says, and I don’t object. I know there’s no point. I’ll take care of his wound at home.

Our home.

The bedroom is dim, lit only by a small bedside lamp.

Nikos is sitting on a leather chair in the corner of the room.

I grab the first-aid kit from the bathroom and set it beside the oak table.

I assess his defined, bare torso before my gaze fixes on a fresh cut slashing across his side. The sight makes my heart clench.

“How did you find out about your uncle?” I clean the wound, trying to be as gentle as possible, though I know the man has endured far worse.

“I had my suspicions for a long time.” His muscles tense when the pad touches his skin; the alcohol must sting, but he doesn’t show it. “But when he claimed you left me, I knew he was lying.”

My hand stills, and without control, my eyes lift to meet his. He didn’t doubt me. Even when the one person he trusted most tried to make him, he never did.

“You knew he was scheming with Valeria?” I focus on his wound, dabbing carefully around it.

“I did.”

I glance up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me if I did?” His gaze bores into mine so deeply, it feels like it can penetrate straight into my soul. “Would you have believed me if I told you your own sister was plotting against your back, risking your brother’s life?”

My head bows, unable to face him. He’s right.

I wouldn’t have believed him. Not before.

But now… Now, I will never have any doubts.

His word will be sacred to me because this man has proven his loyalty.

Something I’ll never find again. He’s never lied to me.

Never betrayed. He’s always been protecting me.

He grabs my wrist, firm but not harsh. The pad slips from my fingers as he pulls me closer.

Our eyes lock again, and when they do, it’s like everything else fades.

Like there’s an invisible bond between us.

I don’t speak. I don’t ask any more questions.

Right now, I know no words could possibly erase the pain we’ve both experienced.

But together we’ll endure just another one of life’s traumas.

His other hand rises to cup my face, and before I know it, his lips are on mine.

It starts slow, like he’s testing the waters, but the second I lean into him, it becomes raw, all-consuming.

His hands slide from my face down to my waist, pulling me onto his lap as if I belong there.

I do. Now, more than ever. The ridges of his muscles flex with every movement as my hands move on their own, tracing the hard lines of his toned chest, his shoulders, everywhere I can reach.

I can’t get enough. I want to feel every inch of him under my fingertips.

My lips trail down his jaw, his neck, and I feel his fingers dig into my hips.

His head tilts back slightly, his hands now roaming my back, and I swear I can feel him shudder under me.

Eventually, his lips find mine again, hungrier this time, and I lose myself in him.

His hands tug at my shirt, and I let him pull it over my head, my bare skin pressing against his.

His touch is everywhere. My sides, back, thighs, and I can’t get enough.

I guide him back, his body sinking into the chair as I straddle him fully.

His hands are on my hips, sliding down to grip my thighs, and I feel the heat between us building.

This isn’t gentle, and it isn’t soft. It’s desperate, raw.

It’s a way to drown out everything else.

For once, I feel like we’re the same. Two people trying to bury the pain in each other. We’re both broken in ways neither of us wants to admit, but right now, none of that matters. Nothing matters. Just us.

I move against him, and he groans low in his throat.

The sound is like music to my ears. His head drops forward to rest against mine, and his hands grip me tighter, guiding me as I find my rhythm.

The raw lust between us deepens with every touch, every kiss, every ragged breath, but so does our bond.

Hot water streams down on my face and body as if it could wash away the remnants of past events.

The floral scent fills my nose, but it does nothing to soothe the pain.

Nikos is downstairs, talking with Remo, who claimed to have intel on Valeria.

I try to push the thought of her out of my mind, but I can’t shake the nagging feeling that this isn’t over yet.

And now, I know she’s dangerous, unpredictable.

I step out of the bath. The air feels colder against my damp skin. I wrap a white towel around my body, the soft fabric clinging to me as I move toward the bedroom. My hair is still dripping, water trickling down my back.

I open the door to the bedroom, but before I can even take a full step inside, a hand clamps over my mouth, muffling the scream that starts to rise in my throat.

My body goes stiff with terror, and a beat passes before I can react.

I try to twist away, but I feel something cold and sharp pressing against my throat—a knife.

I freeze. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can barely breathe.

I can’t move. Then, a voice. A low whisper, and far too familiar.

“If you want to live,” the man whispers in my ear, pressing the knife even tighter, “don’t make a sound.”

My blood runs cold, and my heart skips a beat. I know that voice.

It’s him.